Apex Predators
by Momma-Ran
Summary: 18 students of South Park High are thrown into a Battle for their lives. A revamp of the living game.


**Bebe**

Bebe Stevens butt hurts from sitting on the hard bleachers in the school gym. She squirms, crossing then uncrossing her smooth legs but it doesn't help her sore rear. Her chocolate colored eyes are fixated on a man in a suit standing below.

"Eighteen students from South Park High will be chosen to compete in the Battles!" When the man with his fake cheery voice smiles it looks like his face is being split in half.

A shudder runs down Bebe's spine.

It has more to do with the guest speaker's smile than with what he said. That is, until what he said sinks in. Her brown eyes widen with surprise.

Battle is a television show that started four years ago on a late night channel desperate to get some attention for itself. Well, it worked. Battle was not the average television show – not even an average late night show – and it quickly got a million viewers.

The creepy man gestures to a glass bowl beside him. "You will be paired into groups of two. If you lose your partner, you lose the Battle."

Bebe herself has only seen one episode out of curiosity. It had been two hours of watching high school students slaughtering each other in a large arena that appeared to be in a pine forest. What she knew from the gossip is that those who had their partners killed never won.

Never before had the gym been so silent. No one was whispering, txting, moving. Discretely Bebe looks around at her peers. Their bodies are as tense as hers; everyone is on the edge of their seats waiting to hear the eighteen students whose lives will be changed forever. If a pin dropped right now every one of them would jump. Brown eyes flicker back to the speaker who still wears the unnerving smile.

"When I call your name, make your way down the bleachers and to the front." he says.

Bebe sucks in a breath. Wildly it occurs to her that she doesn't even know his name. Nervously she tugs at her curly blonde hair.

He reaches into the bowl and she breaks out in a cold sweat.

Something tells her that she is not going to like this. With his hand still in the bowl the man turns to them as though something just occurred to him. "Remember, once your name has been selected there is no going back. You cannot back out of the Battle for any reason whatsoever. If you run you will be killed and replaced." A graveyard would have been louder than it is in the gym.

Then his hand is being withdrawn. A white piece of folded paper is in it.

Bebe's heart pounds against her chest like a beast trying to escape.

The paper is unfolded and the man reads what is written aloud. "Bebe Stevens."

The blood drains from Bebe's face. She mouths the word _me_. The noise fades away but not before Bebe hears the man saying congratulations to her. It seems that the world is shrinking into nothingness.

A jab to her upper arm has Bebe jumping out of her seat. The person next to her jerks his head towards the man, who appears to be waiting for something.

It clicks and Bebe forces herself through the crowd to the stairs. With lead feet Bebe walks down the stairs. Her red high heels click on the gym floor and echo around the hushed room.

When she reaches him the Battles representative grabs her hand and shakes it. The paper with her name on it is in her hand when she lets go. He adjusts her so that she's standing beside him.

Bebe's brown eyes are lowered to the white paper.

Scrawled in red ink is her name. With complete and utter certainty Bebe knows that she is going to die. It doesn't matter who she is partnered with or what kind of environment they are dropped in. _Don't think like that! _She scolds herself. _If you have that kind of attitude you really will die._

**Eric**

"W-well golly Eric, I don't think I like this at all."

Eric Cartman sighs impatiently at the sound of Butters voice in his ear. He shoves out a massive hand that hits the small blonde square in the chest and pushes him away.

Butters stumbles over his own feet and ends up on the floor.

Eric ignores the stares of those around him. He feels no remorse and nothing they can say or do will make him.

The middle-aged man in the suit stares at him curiously but without the typical disgust that the brunette is used to. "Now, now, young man, save it for the Battle." This is a man who loves his job. Sadistic bastard.

Eric hopes that one day he will feel that way about his job. Whether or not he will win is not a question in Eric's mind – he will do it. Killing isn't something that bothers him. He has killed before.

"As you well know the partners are a secret from the public until the show starts so if you will follow me we will go somewhere more private." More private turns out to be an empty classroom.

Every student in the room stands still as statues, bodies as taught as rubber bands. Eric half expects them to snap and devour the man in the suit like starving dogs. Mud brown eyes survey those who will be his enemies. For a moment he forgets that one of them will be his ally.

Token, Craig, Christophe, and Gregory are by far the most dangerous of the lot if you go by brute strength alone – although all of them are quite clever as well. Wendy, Rebecca, Mark, Kyle, and Gary are wicked intelligent which could make up for their lack of brute strength. Clyde could be dangerous if he ever figures out how strong he really is, Pip has Damien on his side, and Kenny has the inability to stay dead. The rest – Butters, Red, Stan, Tweek, and Bebe – are all idiotic weaklings with no secret weapons up their sleeves.

"You are not allowed to switch partners." The man tells them. His smile gets wider. "I would not recommend letting your partner be killed either."

Eric has watched the show almost religiously. He knows all of the rules but these people clearly don't know kids brought up in South Park.

When still no one speaks the man's smile falters slightly. Although he doesn't know what goes on during these meetings, Eric can guess that the violent silence is not something the man is used to. "We have been watching you for a week to determine who would best be your partners."

If Eric didn't think the drawing was rigged before, he now thinks it was. There are hundreds of students in this school and somehow it is just students from their class that got chosen. Somehow they knew to follow them around and find out who they would best be with.

The man reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a handful of long red strings. "Here is your Red String of Fate." His smile is back and more twisted than before.

Eric's frown deepens.

"Lets start with Bebe Stevens, since she was the first chosen."

Glancing at her, Eric sees that the attractive blonde girl is paler than a sheet.

The man is clearly expecting her to come to him but when she doesn't, he goes to Bebe. Bebe seems to shrink back but he grabs her right wrist. When he ties on the first string its clear that its cutting into her skin. It takes only a moment before scarlet drops from her wrist to the floor. This explains the mysterious, seemingly pointless, circles on the Warrior's wrists. The cut it leaves is most likely a way to mark their victims.

When he steps back everyone notices the blood dripping from her wrist.

The whispers are like growls sweeping around the room.

"Wendy Testaburger, where are you? Come here, girl. Bebe is your partner."

With a stiff back and cool expression Wendy marches across the room to stand beside Bebe and have their wrists tied together.

"Eric Cartman." The man calls his name next but Eric gives no sign that he heard. He falters for a moment before picking the big-boned teen out from the crowd. "Er..." The man's eyes flicker from the string to Eric's chubby wrist. Bravely the man grabs Eric's wrist and ties the string on.

It cuts into his skin almost instantly.

"Now which one of you is Kenny McCormick?"

Kenny actually comes bounding over. He winks at the suit before smiling at Eric and holding out his wrist. Because his wrist took up so much string, their hands touch when Kenny's thin one is tied to the other end.

Eric doesn't really understand what the string is for since they are just going to cut them off the first chance they get.

**Gary**

Gary Harrison holds his bleeding wrist with one hand as he walks a few paces behind Stan and his three best friends. They are talking about what just happened but he isn't a part of the conversation. He never is. The children of South Park hold grudges for a long time. Although what Gary did to them aside from move here and happen to be Mormon, he doesn't know. They don't always make sense here.

If the blonde teenager had not seen the Battles on television already he would have thought this was something that South Park had come up with themselves.

His partner is a redheaded girl named Rebecca Red. Gary doesn't know her on a personal level and can honestly say he doesn't recall any details about her except that she prefers to go by her last name. There is a rumor that she is the cousin of Craig Tucker. When the string was tied around their wrists, she had just given him a once-over. Her unreadable brown eyes gave him no clues as to what she thought of him.

The blonde Mormon stands by his car in the student parking lot, waiting patiently for Stan to ditch the others.

It takes another fifteen minutes before Stan leaves his friends and walks over to Gary. The noirette jock shuffles his feet and shoves his thumbs in the pockets of his maroon pants. "So..." Stan starts but trails off. "I'm sure Red is going to be a great partner."

Gary's teal eyes lower to the ground. His heart beats against his ribs in an escape attempt. "Yeah. Kyle too." Awkward silence settles over them. "Stan, I don't want to do this."

Relief flits across Stan's handsome face. "I know, Gary." He says quietly with his face to the sky. "I don't either."

From across the parking lot Kenny hollers at Stan to hurry up.

Stan holds out his hand.

Gary takes it then pulls the noirette teenager into a hug. The teen with dark hair smells like cologne and Gary closes his eyes to help memorize the scent.

Both of Stan's strong arms wrap around his waist, his nose pressed against the blonde's neck. Black hair tickles the blonde's face and Gary pulls away slightly. "I guess you have to go." His teal eyes are staring over Stan's shoulder where Kenny is walking over to them.

A small wave is all the goodbye Gary gives as he gets into his car. Although he doesn't want to look back, teal eyes find the review mirror.

Kenny has his arms wrapped around Stan and is saying something. The noirette is staring at Gary's car driving away, unresponsive. They vanish when Gary turns a corner. His mind won't let him think of the what ifs that are just beneath the surface.

So much can happen. _Who ever thought of this sick game, anyway?!_ Angrily, Gary hits the gas petal hard. South Park becomes a blur as Gary floors it. His mind on the upcoming challenge, the blonde doesn't see the deer in the road until he almost hits it. The same time he swerves the deer leaps off the road in the opposite direction.

Gary's heart leaps to his throat. Wide eyes barely have time to take in the swirl of snow and dark forest around him. One tall figure stands out from the rest. A noise like a train wreck fills his ears. Glass flies and metal shrieks and Gary's head collides with the steering wheel. Almost immediately the blood that drips into his eyes turns from red to black.

**Tweek**

Tweek Tweak paces his boyfriend's bedroom restlessly, a million thoughts racing lightning fast through his mind. Unconsciously he wrings his shirt hem in his hands. After a few seconds Tweek drops the shirt to scratch at the cut around his left wrist. It hasn't stopped bleeding because Tweek hasn't stopped picking at it. The initial relief at having Craig as a partner – which has plenty of advantages for the blonde teen – has vanished when it occurred to him just how many disadvantages Craig would have. Amber eyes flit over to where the tall noirette is typing away at a computer.

He has no clue what Craig is doing. A few times the blonde has considered asking but he always loses his nerve before he can get the words out.

Arriving at the Tucker household had been chaotic. Ruby had told Mr. and Mrs. Tucker about the Battle via text message and they both bombarded the boys when they got home. Mr. Tucker wanted to know what their plan was. Mrs. Tucker wanted to take the boys into hiding.

After several hours of convincing Craig's parents that they had everything under control, Tweek and Craig escaped up to the noirette's room. Most of the conversation had been a blur for the blonde so he missed whatever his boyfriend's plan is. To say that Tweek is shocked is an understatement. He always suspected that something awful like this would happen to him but now that its here Tweek can't believe it. After circling the bedroom once more the blonde stops behind the noirette. "What are you – nngh! - doing Craig?"

Silver eyes glance back at him. "Looking up survival tactics." Craig replies in a monotone.

Tweek's eyes take in the images on screen. They are of weak points in the human body. Silently the blonde goes back to pacing. _This is real. We are all going to be murderers. Or be murdered. _In distress, Tweek tugs at his messy blonde locks. "D-do we even have a fucking chance?!" He screams.

Before Craig can reply, the bedroom door opens. Craig's little redhead sister is standing there. "I just saw on the news that Gary Harrison drove into a tree."

Gold and silver eyes stare at her, silently asking the question they both want to know the answer to.

Ruby doesn't disappoint. "He's dead." With the disturbing news delivered, Ruby leaves them alone again.

For a moment the only noise is the squeak Stripe II running on his guinea pig wheel.

Tweek opens his mouth but before he can make a sound Craig is on his feet and wrapping his arms around the blonde. "We do have a chance." His voice holds no doubt and no quiver of fear. "We will live."

Tweek mumbles his response – his doubts – into Craig's shirt.

Craig waits until he falls silent again before backing away. "Come look at this stuff." Silver eyes catch on to the blonde's hesitation. "It's not all about killing. We both need to know this."

Wide golden eyes gaze into molten silver, searching. Finally Tweek gives a tiny nod and Craig pulls him to the swivel chair and into his lap.

The noirette pulls up another tab on Google Chrome with a list of edible plants in tropic areas. They cover ways to find water; start fires; build shelters.

Tweek isn't sure he will remember all of this but as long as he has his boyfriend with him, he is sure that they will at least survive nature. _If only I could be as certain about our ability to survive the other Warriors._

**Token**

Token Black turns a silver knob and abruptly the hot water coming from the shower head stops. He counts to five before sliding open the frosted glass door and reaching for the fluffy maroon towel hanging on the wall rack. Starting with his dreadlocks and ending with his toes, the dark-skinned teen dries off. His dark brown eyes find the foggy mirror above the sinks and he wipes the towel across it. The person staring back at him seems to be more man than boy but on the inside he feels the opposite. There shouldn't be a reason to be fearful; his mind and body have been though intense workouts.

His body is hardened by years of football, wrestling, and weight-lifting. His mind has been honed by hours of studying, reading, and researching. Easily one of the cleverest and strongest people in his year – not to mention good-looking and a regular gentleman – Token should feel his usual confidence. However, this is different. These people are telling him to kill or be killed. He isn't stupid about what Clyde's life means; to lose his partner would be the same as a death sentence on top of the unbearable pain of losing his best friend.

Dark eyes break contact with his reflection. Token pulls on boxer-briefs and then slips into black sweat pants. He wears a black wife-beater and puts his towel over his shoulders to catch any remaining water droplets. As he steps out of the bathroom, his stomach growls. As unwise a decision it was, the noirette teenager had decided to go without dinner that night. Anything that he put in it he was sure would have come up.

_Maybe a yogurt would be okay. _With this thought in mind, the dark-skinned teen goes to the kitchen. From their stainless steel refrigerator Token selects a strawberry yogurt.

"Token, your mother and I would like a word with you." Previously his parents left him alone, understanding that he needs some space and discussing the turn of events with each other.

For once he really does not want to speak to – or even look at – them. With a silent sigh the dredlocked teen turns to his parents.

His father has a hard look of determination on his face while his mother just looks concerned.

Token narrows his eyes, positive he is not going to like what they have to say. He sidesteps them to take a spoon out of the drawer. Still, he has to try to get out of this conversation. "I really don't want to talk right now."

As he opens his yogurt Token discretely watches his parents reactions to his words.

Sure enough, his father's dark face twists into an unpleasant expression. "Fine, we'll make this short. Its your duty as the only student of your background to win this." He replies stonily.

The spoon slips out of Token's hand and makes a loud clatter on the floor. Locking eyes with his father, Token's expression turns angry. "So you're telling me that because I'm black I have to win not because I'll be dead if I don't win?" _How can he say that to his only son?! _

A sound like a squeak escapes from his mother, who has her manicured hands covering her mouth.

Carelessly he drops the yogurt to the clean tile floor and shoves past his parents. "Nice to know you care so much." There isn't a point in staying any longer. Token storms out of the house, barely pausing to slip on his boots. Outside the air is cold but the rage and betrayal burning inside keeps him warm.

A mile down the street is as far as he makes it before realizing that an unmarked black van is following him. They are not being discrete in their following of him and Token feels a tiny sliver of fear down his spine. People who don't care about who sees what crimes they commit are the most dangerous.

As Token reaches for his cell phone – which he left at home – someone rolls down the drivers side window. He barely has time to register what the long black barrel is. When the dart hits him in the arm it feels like a bee sting. Token pulls the dart out of his arm and the world lurches around him. It falls to the snowy ground a moment before he does. Blinking snow from his eyes, the dark-skinned teenager sees people getting out of the van before blacking out.

**Pip**

Phillip Pirrup is having one of those dreams where he is falling through the sky. His stomach gives an uncomfortable lurch and he tastes stomach acid in the back of his throat. Warm brown eyes open wide. In the split second it takes Pip to see that he is actually falling, the contents of his stomach come up all the way. Being sick midair is made worse by his sickness getting in his straight blonde hair. The ground is getting closer by the second and for a moment he panics.

"Pip! Pull your parachute open!" A voice yells at him over the rush of wind in his ears. Its only then that he becomes aware there is a parachute on his back at all. After fumbling with it the voice shouts out more helpful advice, "The cord, Pip!"

His dainty fingers curl around the cord attached to the parachute and he gives it a rough tug. His body jerks as the parachute is released and catches air. Finally falling at a more reasonable pace, the blonde takes a moment to look around. All of the chosen Warriors are falling towards the ground. Most are awake and have their parachutes open. Now that he's safer he can't believe he didn't hear the panicked screams of the Tweek boy.

When his warm cinnamon brown eyes fall on Butters, the other feminine blonde waves cheerfully. This does not seem like a situation in which to wave or be cheerful, but he tentatively returns his partner's greeting. "That was close!"

Pip does not understand how anyone can be so optimistic. Because he doesn't know how to respond, the blonde with brown eyes merely nods agreement. Glancing below he notices that the earth is getting ever nearer.

The wind picks up and yells of concern can be heard from the other parachutists. Looking down, Pip sees the land getting further away. _What if I am pulled out to sea? I don't know how to swim! _Soon his face is sprayed with salty seawater. Pip splutters but the strong taste won't leave his mouth.

Then he's in the cold crushing waves. For a second the British blonde struggles with the parachute pack, trying to get it off. Panic threatens to ensue as the parachute drags him further out to sea. Then Pip's slender arms slip out of the straps. Instinct takes over and he kicks himself in the direction of the shore. His tennis shoes – when did they get so heavy? - scrape against the ocean floor.

Beneath his sneakers is wickedly sharp corral reef that cuts through his fabric shoes with no resistance. His hands and forearms sting with saltwater in the cuts made by jagged ends of the corral. Although he is close to shore, the waves pull and push Pip's body as though he were merely a rag doll. With the next wave pulling him out to sea, Pip's ankle gets caught in between two pointed pieces of corral. He cries out with pain as he scrambles to free himself and gets a mouthful of seawater in return.

His oxygen supply is cut off again when his shirt collar digs into his throat. The blonde looks up to see the ever-cheerful Butters hauling him in by the navy blue collar of his t-shirt.

Relief floods through Pip when he feels sand beneath his hands. Red swirls and vanishes around his arms. Fear of sharks investigating the blood scent has the British youth breaking away from Butters hold and crawling further onto the sandy beach. His ankle screams in protest.

With a serious expression on his face, Butters kneels beside Pip. "We have to hide!" His teal eyes are wide with fear and keep flitting from Pip to further along the beach.

Following Butters glances, cinnamon brown eyes see the intimidating figures of Token and Cartman staring each other down. He would hate to get in the middle of that. "Would you be so kind as to help me? We can hide in the jungle." Pip puts his arm around Butters shoulders when the slender blonde nods agreement. Together they hobble across the beach and into the cool of the jungle.

**Rebecca**

Rebecca Cotswold lightly lands on the sand and pulls off her parachute. Her dark brown eyes glare up at the simmering sky.

The bright sun glares back at her.

She tugs down her black leather dress as she looks around for her brother. Rebecca watches him land a bit rougher than she did. "Brother, dearest, be a doll and help me roll up my parachute."

Mark runs a hand through his short windblown hair but sends in a smile in her direction. She watches him pack up his own parachute then get to work on hers.

While he works on her parachute, Rebecca's dark eyes scan the beach. They are a little ways away from everyone else. Her gaze lingers on Token and Cartman but when they prove to be uninteresting she watches Butters pull Pip from the ocean. Wendy and Bebe have vanished into the thick growth of the trees. Stan and Kyle are standing head-to-head near the water.

"All finished." Mark appears beside her with her parachute pack in hand. "Hey there are -"

Rebecca yanks her pack from his hands. She launches herself across the sand, finding it more difficult than she likes in the sand. When she is close to the boys she swings the pack. It hits Stan on the back of the head. The clunk from within the parachute pack is quite confusing.

Stan stumbles in the sand, twists, and lands on his butt in the waves. He rubs the back of his head, looking dazed.

The brunette can't keep the smile off her face as she readies herself to attack again.

Stan gets to his feet, nearly falls over again, then swings a fist at her. His dark blue eyes blaze with cold fire.

Rebecca ducks and aims for his knees.

One of his legs give out and Stan is kneeling in the sand before her. "Kyle! Get this bitch off of me!" Stan hollers for his best friend.

Rebecca draws herself up to her full height and smiles coldly down at the noirette. Judging from the sounds behind her, her brother is keeping Kyle busy so she can go for the kill. "Get ready to die, Marsh."

"Hang on a sec, Stan." Kyle responds through gritted teeth.

Pain shoots through Rebecca's skull. Stars explode before her. The brunette drops to her knees in the sand, clutching her head and screeching.

Turning around she sees Kyle helping Stan to his feet.

Furious, Rebecca goes to get up again. Kyle's foot is a blur. When it connects Rebecca hears a crunch, feels a throbbing pain in her mouth, and tastes metallic blood. She reaches into her mouth to gingerly touch the place that is in pain and finds her canine tooth is loose.

The Jew scoops up and handful of sand and shoves it in her eye.

The girl screams and holds her eye. Fire spreads through her skull. Blinking makes the pain worse and she can feel the grains of sand shifting. "MARK!" Her brother had better do something about this!

"If she goes blind she isn't a threat and someone else will kill her." She hears Kyle say to Stan. So they aren't going to kill her. "We need to find food and water, dude." Their voices fade away.

Rebecca feels a hand on her shoulder. She gets ready to punch whoever it is, then sees her brother.

Mark looks concerned. His broken nose is leaking blood and his face is white as a sheet. "Ibbs okay. Rebecca." He takes her face in his hands and turns it to see better. "Leb me see your eye. Maybe I can fix ib." Her brunette brother cups his hands in the water and brings it to Rebecca's face.

With her good eye she glares a silent warning at him.

Which he ignores. The saltwater goes right in her injured eye. Rebecca screams at the top of her lungs as Mark continues to wash out her eye. It seems a bit redundant to wash out sand with saltwater but this is the only water they have.

By the time he finishes and Rebecca lays panting on the beach the sun is starting to sink in the sky. Their little scuffle must have lasted longer than she thought because glancing around at the beach she finds it deserted. Her left eye hurts so badly and she can't see out of it. Real life pain – something she has only read about it - is not at all pleasant.

"Thab coulb hab gone bebber." Mark sits in the sand beside her.

Rebecca nods mutely.

**Red**

Rebecca Red stands in the shade of a tall coconut tree, palm green eyes searching for her partner. Absently she rubs the bandage covering the cut on her wrist.

The wind landed her in the thick of the trees, dangling ten feet off the ground. She was quick to asses her situation and unhook herself from the parachute pack. Her landing was painless and aside from some leaves in her red hair, Red was fine.

As Stan and Kyle walk towards her, the redhead youth ducks behind a tree. She hopes they won't notice her parachute hanging there.

"-died in a car accident." Kyle brushes hanging lichen from his path.

Red can't see Stan's face from her hiding place but she hears the shock and sorrow in his voice. "Gary is dead?"

A gasp slips out between Red's lips. Horrified, she covers her mouth and holds completely still.

The boys pass without incident. "Yeah, dude. I heard from Ike. Apparently he wrapped his car around a tree trunk." Their voices fade with distance.

Red feels hot tears sliding down her cheeks. She rubs them with her back of her hand but in the humidity of the canopy the wetness only smears. _I can't win without a partner! I'm dead already. _

The redhead youth crumples into herself. She sits on her toes, knees to her chest, and face buried in her arms. Silently Red rocks back and forth as she releases her emotions. Her long straight red hair covers her face.

Sometime later a quiet sigh can be heard. "Okay." Red lifts her head. "Okay. I can't give up just because I don't have a partner." Wired teeth chew on her bottom lip. _I'm not even going to get my braces off. _Wiping her eyes once more she takes a look at her surroundings. Everywhere she looks something is growing.

The trees grow crooked and tall. Lichen hangs from the moss-covered branches and tall grass sways at the bases of the trees. Thick roots create arches going in and out of the damp soil. Droplets of water drip off just about every surface. Among the grass little clusters of flowers have sprung up.

Red's leaf green eyes stare at a stick on the trunk beside her head. Only when the stick moves does she realize it was a lizard. Her heart thunders in her chest while her eyes follow the lizard up the straight rough bark of the coconut tree. Another lizard reveals itself and they do pushups at each other.

_I have to find my new partner. _

Red scans the beach. There are two figures a ways away to the west and another two figures about the same distance to the east. They are too far away make out features. She glances back at the jungle behind her. Looking for anyone in there would be madness. _But that's what we have to do. _Sticking to the treeline, the redhead girl travels with her back to the sinking sun.

**Gregory**

Gregory rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt and smiles at the setting sun. He puts his arms above his head and stretches until his muscles quiver. When he's satisfied with his stretch the British youth relaxes. Gregory kicks out with a brown boot at the golden sand. "Mole, I want to live here."

"Do nut call me zat." Christophe dodges the arm Gregory was about to throw around his broad shoulders. His pine green eyes glare in the British youth's direction.

Gregory merely smiles charmingly. Not that his companion is ever seduced by Gregory's charm. One would think that with Christophe being French – French which is the language of love – he would be far more susceptible to seduction. Gregory's light brown eyes sweep the golden beach again. "We should set up camp."

In response, Christophe turns towards the ocean and grunts. He runs a scarred tan hand through his short, messy brown hair. "I want zo find Kyle."

The Frenchman misses Gregory's scowl. By the time he turns to face Gregory once more, the British youth has a smile on his face. "You know switching partners is forbidden." He taps his fingertips together.

Something flashes in Christophe's dark green eyes. "You know zat ze rules 'ave changed."

A hot breeze ruffles Gregory's blonde locks. "Of course." He makes a sweeping movement towards the dense trees. "Unless you want to sleep in the open?" A smug feeling washes through him when Christophe marches into the darkness. After one last look at the blood red sky, the British youth follows his partner.

Under the cover of many leaves the temperature is at least five degrees cooler than on the beach. Any minute now the sun should be vanishing below the horizon and the temperature will drop significantly. Although the white dress shirt he wears has long sleeves, Gregory doubts the thin material will keep him warm.

They walk deep into the forest at the swift pace set by Christophe for fifteen minutes before the brunette finally stops. Unlike most people, the French teenager does not choose a spacious clearing to set up camp but a small space enclosed by twisted tree trunks. Its made more private by hanging moss and tall grass.

"Christophe, I'm not sure we will both fit." Gregory comments as he watches the brunette navigate the twisted trunks.

He is rudely ignored.

With a sigh the blonde climbs over one trunk while ducking down to avoid another. He twists around a third only to nearly smack into a fourth and trip over a fifth. Glaring at the brunette, Gregory wonders how he manages to do this with such finesse. Hanging lichen temporarily blocks the blonde's view and he blows it out of his face.

Finally reaching the small space between all of the trunks and moss the British youth finds Christophe waiting with his legs drawn up to his chest. In the dim light Gregory can barely make out dark eyes darting around every which way searching for dangers. He knows that the French youth will be on his feet ready to fight in an instant. "What do you zink zey put een our parachutes?"

Gregory shakes his head. Curious, he shrugs off the pack and opens it. Beneath the parachute his fingers brush something cold and hard. "I do believe this is a dagger." Something smooth and curved is beside the weapon. "And a cup." He gropes around within the pack but there is nothing else.

"Zey gave us a dagger and a cup?" Christophe's rough voice is lowered with anger. "Zose beetches."

Although he agrees wholeheartedly, Gregory tries to be positive. "It could be worse. We could have nothing."

**Kyle**

Kyle Broflovski sits on the ground to examines Stan's eye in the blue light of his cell phone with a frown of concern on his face. _She got him good. _After a few minutes of silence, "It's going to bruise more and your eye will probably swell shut."

The sun set hours ago, leaving them in perfect darkness. With the thickness of the branches overhead Kyle can't even see the stars. He had little option but to use his phone as a light even though it might draw unwanted attention.

Stan nods and gingerly touches his face. His hand then moves to the side of his head where a lump is forming beneath black hair. "You have shitty taste in women." Stan mutters. His voice is strained from pain.

Knowing that they have already discussed Wendy being fucking insane, Kyle merely smiles. He takes a shallow breath, wincing at the pain in his ribcage. The kick he took to it was rougher than the redhead cares for.

Stan touches Kyle's face where Mark punched him.

He can read the concern in Stan's sapphire blue eyes. "It's no big deal. He throws weak punches." If these are weak punches then Kyle must have gotten a lot of them to have such awful bruising. Just the feather light touch of Stan's fingertips has his eyes watering. "I'm fine, Stan."

"I know you broke Mark's nose, but I'm still worried about you. Look at your neck." Stan's fingertips ghost down the side of his face to his neck.

Once again Kyle winces. Mark tried to choke him and a ring of fingerprints is the result.

"He could have killed you." Stan frowns.

They make eye contact. "Isn't that the point of this?" Kyle lets out a nervous laugh. "Look, we should stay here until morning since it's too dark to keep going and I don't want to waste the phone battery." He glances at the phone but there is still no service and closes it with a quiet clack.

Darkness swallows them. "Do you think Gary suffered?" Stan's voice is a whisper in the dark.

Before he can answer, a piercing scream cuts through the native drone. The bird and insect calls fall silent. Chills dance down the redhead's spine. In his chest Kyle's heart pounds wildly. Whatever he was going to say, Kyle knows it will now mean little to nothing. Instead of speaking he wraps an arm around Stan's shoulders. The action is agony to his ribs.

Soft black hair tickles the bare skin of Kyle's neck. Stan's sigh could be mistaken for the waves lapping at the shore.

**Wendy**

Wendy Testaburger rolls onto her side and hisses when a rock digs into her hip. Quickly she snatches it from underneath her and throws it into the trees. She stares up at the thick plant life covering the sky. Her head is pounding and she has a familiar ache in her abdomen.

Instead of focusing on the impending embarrassment, she tries to come up with a strategy. Being dumped so unceremoniously on the island was not what Wendy had expected. Not that being a part of this sadistic game show was a part of her life plan. Having no idea where they would drop the Warriors did not help her to come up with a strategy to survive.

Bebe has been a trooper thus far. No complaints or even a whimper has been uttered. On the other hand, the blonde has yet to offer up any suggestions. _I know she isn't stupid and neither am I so why is nothing coming to mind? _

A stick cracks nearby.

Wendy's body goes rigid. Slowly she reaches into the pack she is using as a pillow. Her fingers curl around the cool steel of the knife she found in an earlier search. After ten uneventful minutes Wendy allows her muscles to loosen up. However, her grip on the knife doesn't loosen.

Wind rustles through the jungle.

Wendy can't stop the shiver from wracking her body. _We never thought we would be in a situation like this but as long as we stay calm we should be able to do this. _

Beside her, Bebe moves in her sleep. The other girl is wrapped in the silver of her parachute. After the long hike Bebe made her bed and promptly fell asleep.

Suddenly Wendy becomes aware of heavy breathing off to her left. The grunting and rustling of the bushes makes the noirette think it is not human. _We don't even know whats on this island. _She tenses, ears straining to identify what could be making that noise. In the near perfect darkness her eyes strain to see. Movement draws her eyes to something large and dark a few feet away.

"Bebe." Wendy keeps her eyes on the dark mass. There is no response from the sleeping blonde. "Bebe!" Her voice is a hiss. _We need a plan!_

Bebe groans in her sleep. "What?" Her voice is slurred with sleep.

"Climb a tree." Although she can hardly see, Wendy looks around for a good climbing tree.

"What?" Bebe repeats.

She decides that the one she is lying beneath will work. "There's something in the brush. Get into a tree." Wendy launches herself off the ground and onto the first low branch.

The animal notices. It charges for the girls.

Wendy is home safe but Bebe is still on the ground. The blonde girl - realizing that they are in danger a little too late – scrambles to her feet. The creature collides with her. Bebe lets out a scream. There are sounds of a scuffle then silence.

Wendy doesn't dare to breathe for a few moments. She finds herself wondering if her blonde partner is dead. The thought makes her uncharacteristically angry.

A low moan comes from the ground.

Wendy exhales loudly. With it her anger vanishes. "Bebe?"

The response is a human whimper. There is the rustling of movement and then another whimper. "I can't stand."

The irrational anger comes surging back. Wendy has never felt this way before; not even when dealing with that asshole Cartman. She waits a heartbeat before climbing down from her sanctuary. On the ground she feels exposed as though the strange creature will return to cripple her as well.

Poor visibility does not improve the noirette's mood as she gropes around for Bebe. "Bebe, I can't find you."

Bebe's voice comes from the left. "I'm over here."

Wendy's hand touches hot flesh. She curls her fingers around Bebe's sweaty ones. "Where did it get you?"

"M-my leg."

With her free hand the noirette lightly runs her fingertips down Bebe's leg. She feels nothing.

"The right one." Bebe moans.

When Wendy's fingers find wetness around Bebe's right knee the girl lets out another scream. Inside Wendy goes cold. Now she has to make a decision: leave Bebe and keep fighting by herself or struggle on with an injured partner.

**Kenny**

Kenny McCormick sits in the cold sand picking bits of broken shell out of his bleeding knee. His fingertips are shredded from already picking the sharp shell pieces out of his shin. Moonlight turns everything silver and black, making his task much harder than it should have been. "Was dragging me away from the landing site really necessary?"

Cartman is a massive shadow looming over him. "Of course it was dipshit."

Kenny feels a spike of irritation at the insult but lets it go. He looks into the place he thinks his partner's eyes should be. "You could have killed Token before I landed."

Aggression rolls off the other teenager in waves. Curling his fingers into fists, Cartman glowers at the blonde. "Clyde would have gone insane."

"That's a bullshit excuse." Kenny replies instantly. He flicks a piece of bloodied shell onto the glowing sand. "You're just too much of a pussy to actually kill anyone."

A fist curls around Kenny's white wife beater and suddenly he is dangling. "Fuck you, Kenny!" Cartman throws him against a tree trunk like an unwanted ragdoll.

The air whooshes out of Kenny's lungs. His glacier blue eyes – now shining silver in the light of the moon – glare daggers at the brunette. Worried about his love interest, injured, threatened, and cold; this is not a time to mess with him. His lip curls in a snarl as he props himself up. "You might be all muscle but you don't have the balls to murder. It takes more than just a heartless asshole to take a life."

The blonde isn't on his feet long before his partner kicks his ankle out from beneath him. Kenny's wounds get sand in them when he hits the ground. Ignoring the discomfort, the agile blonde is on his feet again. He punches Cartman in the nose.

"I killed my own father, Kenny!" Cartman punches Kenny's jaw. Pain explodes. "And I fed him to my half brother." Another punch to the other side of his face.

Kenny sees stars as his eye swells shut. And suddenly Cartman is on top of him, fists pounding into Kenny's face. His head hits the ground hard and for a second his vision goes black. Sand gets in his mouth and he coughs. The blonde swings back and his hand connects with a meaty cheek. He knees Cartman in the balls and slithers out from under him.

Kenny turns to run but one of his legs is grabbed and he falls flat on his face. He feels his pants sliding off as Cartman drags himself towards the blonde.

The brunette's breath is hot on Kenny's bare skin. "I'm going to fucking kill you Kenny."

Large weight on his chest cuts off Kenny's oxygen supply. Blindly he lashes out, fingertips grazing skin. Something wet splatters onto his face. Blood.

The bull of a teenager growls. His fist flies, hitting Kenny's temple. Once, twice, three times.

Stars explode behind his eyelids with a fury of pain. The blonde digs his nails into meaty flesh. Kenny feels himself slipping away. If Cartman doesn't suffocate him first, Kenny is going to die of brain trauma. Probably internal bleeding. Skull fracture.

Suddenly the weight is gone.

Opening his one good eye, the blonde sees a boy with dark hair punching Cartman in the face. "Stan, you look like a fucking angel."

**Craig**

Craig Tucker squints in the midmorning sunlight streaming from a gap in the trees. His skin feels hot and sticky. His inky black hair is plastered to his scalp. For a long moment silver eyes stare up at the trees while his brain struggles to wake up.

"Craig? I-I think I heard something!" Tweek clings to his upper arm.

It all comes flooding back to the noirette now; how they are players in a twisted game of murder. "Tweek, we're in the jungle. Of course you hear something." As soon as he says it the noir instantly regrets it. "Sorry." His stomach growls.

Tweek peers over the edge of their parachute hammock. His death grip on Craig's olive skinned arm doesn't let up. "I – nngh – know, Craig. I think it's an animal."

Craig glances over his side of the parachute.

Below them shuffling on short legs with their snouts to the ground are three brown creatures. They snort back and forth to each other and give off a foul smell. All three are bigger than any wild pigs Craig has ever seen. Their tusks are doubled, one set growing up and the other growing down.

"Boars?" The noir murmurs to himself. "I don't think they are dangerous. They are just pigs." In spite of what he just said he knows that those tusks can do severe damage. The two continue to watch the brown animals.

At once the three boars get excited. They close in on a patch of long grass. Heads down, they charge it. The birds nesting there stood no chance. It is over in seconds. There is barely even time for an alarmed squawk. As the three giants begin to eat another boar comes out of the jungle. She is darker without tusks and followed by three little spotted piglets.

Although the display was shocking Craig finds that it doesn't diminish his appetite. Silver eyes stare down at the group while the gears in his mind work. Going after a wild boar directly seems like a bad idea. He did watch Old Yeller. Having meat would be a huge advantage. "Maybe I can snatch a piglet."

"Craig, they'll kill you before you can get one!" Tweek protests in a whisper.

Below the pigs don't seem to know that they are there. The birds are gone except for a few feathers. If the boars move on then Craig could lose his chance at getting them a decent meal. He chews on his lip in contemplation.

"If – gah – you start cooking one won't everyone else smell it?"

"Goddamn it." Craig leans back in the parachute. _I didn't think of that. _

His partner's stomach growls loudly. Tweek nuzzles the noirette's neck, seemingly content to curl up beside him even though it must be ninety degrees and humid.

With an olive colored hand, Craig swats away a pesky fly. "We're supposed to be killing them." He points out more to himself than to Tweek. _If we can lure them here with the smell of cooked meat we can ambush them. _He finishes his thought out loud. "We would have to move right afterwards though."

Large golden orbs stare into his silver ones, pools of concern. There is no more protest from Craig's partner. After a few seconds Tweek breaks eye contact. He shifts as far away from the noirette as possible.

Craig struggles to one of the tree limbs supporting them. The task is like trying to run on sand; a lot of work with frustrating results. Finally his long fingers curl around a branch and he hauls himself out of the makeshift hammock.

Beneath his black combat boots, the branch creaks dangerously. Quickly he scoots closer to the trunk where the limb is thicker. Nimbly he swings down to a lower branch, then another one even lower. The ground is four feet below him. The wild boars are still in the area though a little farther away now that they have finished eating the birds. Silver eyes lock onto one little speckled piglet a foot away.

Slowly Craig reaches out one arm to judge the distance. _Even if I'm hanging upside down I won't be able to reach it and it might run away if it notices me._

Frowning, the teenager realizes he that he is going to have to get out of the tree. He will have maybe two seconds to grab the piglet and get back in the tree before Mommy and the three males come to the rescue. _Maybe if I kill it before I get back in the tree..._

"Tweek!" Craig hisses. He keeps his eyes on the oblivious little one. "Throw me my knife."

After a moment's pause Tweek's voice drifts down softly, "What if I h-hit you?"

"I'll catch it. You won't hit me." Craig replies with complete confidence. On the off chance it looks like he's going to be stabbed then the noirette will just let the knife fall to the ground.

A whistle and a rush of air against his nose follows without warning. The soft _shink _of the weapon sinking into the earth is, at that moment, the best sound Craig has ever heard. Exhaling slowly, Craig looks down at the knife sticking up in the dirt, point down.

"Some warning would have been nice!" He whispers up towards where his boyfriend is peering over the edge. He sees Tweek mouth the word sorry then turns his silver orbs to the ground where he last saw the boar piglet.

It's a bit farther away. Craig can't believe it didn't hear any of that. With a long look around, Craig sticks one long leg out of the tree. The shiny toe of his boot touches the springy earth and when nothing charges at it, the rest of Craig follows. Keeping low to the ground, the noirette takes a step and grabs the knife.

He inches towards the small spotted animal, knife raised. Skipping one and two, Craig says _three_ in his mind then brings the knife down. It misses its target.

Frightened, the piglet squeals. It goes to run away but Craig knocks it off balance as he raises the knife again. Rustling and angry noises from the bushes tells Craig he's out of time. Quickly he scoops up the dazed baby and slits its throat. Hot life blood spills out over his hands. Craig turns heel and runs for the tree. His wet hands make the bark slippery. Putting the rubber handle of the knife between his teeth, Craig tries again. This time he gets a good grip and hauls himself up.

Just in time. Enraged, the boars come crashing into the tiny clearing. The dark mother rams into the trunk where his leg just was. She screams up at him as her baby's blood drips onto her ugly face. The other three circle the tree, brushing it with their tusks and grunting what Craig is sure are threats towards him.

"That wasn't so hard." Craig comments with a smile as he climbs back up to the branch he will use to get back to his boyfriend. He cuts a length of vine and ties the piglets back legs together with one end. The other end is tied onto the branch beside his feet to let it bleed out. "So," Craig looks at Tweek. "Do you know how to start a fire?"

**Clyde**

Clyde Donovan stares into the clear water of the river with unblinking light brown eyes. His spiky dust colored hair has leaves in it and an ant has dropped onto his nose. The ant is ignored as it crawls up between his eyes. In his chest his heart races like a thoroughbred. Light brown eyes catch shadowy movement in the water. _There. _

When a dark hand flicks the ant off his face, Clyde starts. "What are you looking at?" Token's deep voice breaks Clyde's concentration.

He glances at the dark skinned teenager then back into the river. "I saw a shark." He replies with complete conviction. That is what the shadow looked like; he knows because he's watched nature documentaries before. Of course those sharks were always in the ocean.

Token arches a black eyebrow. "This is a freshwater river, Clyde."

Angrily, Clyde turns away from the water. "I know what I saw, Toke."

"Are you sure it wasn't just a big fish?" Token shifts the parachute pack on his shoulders, reminding Clyde that his is still stuck in a tree somewhere. "It looks like a pretty deep river. Not to mention its wide enough for some big sushi."

Silently Clyde flips his boyfriend the bird. _No one ever believes me. _This thought triggers unwanted tears.

Token wraps his arms around the brunette. "I'm just saying. Don't be such a baby."

The brunette reaches back to tug on one of Token's dreadlocks. It takes a moment for the tears to go away and when they do he's left with a runny nose. They stand in silence for a while until Clyde notices the boulders and rocks by the sheer cliff face. "A castle would be perfect. Easy to defend."

Ever the voice of reason, his partner responds with "I doubt we're going to find a castle."

Clyde frees himself from his boyfriend's arms. He walks over to a rock. "Why don't we build one? A fort or something?" As he talks the brunette gets more excited. "We could make a wall," he makes a circular motion with his hands. "Up against the cliff wall with a tiny entrance so that they can't get in so easy."

When Token remains silent, Clyde continues on. "We could hide out in there while everyone else kills each other. And then we don't have to worry about running into…" Once more his eyes fill up with tears.

Token's sharp dark face mirrors his grimace. Neither of them wants to run into Craig and Tweek. "Sure, dude. We can at least defend ourselves from behind the wall and have a safe place to sleep at night."

With that they get started. The work is hard and the weather hot. It doesn't take long before they are soaked in sweat. Clyde has shed his maroon blazer already and is considering getting rid of his football jersey too.

Trial and error has them stacking and restacking rocks on top of each other, using mud from the riverbank as grout. More than once fingers and toes are crushed. In spite of this, by sunset Clyde feels as though they have made okay progress.

"Ow! Fuck!" Token's yowl has Clyde dropping his football-sized rock in surprise. It narrowly misses his foot. Facing his partner he sees that Token has dropped a rather large boulder onto his foot.

Immediately Clyde knows that this isn't something to take lightly. While they both managed to laugh off crushed fingers and toes – even a cracked fingernail on Clyde's part – Token looks close to crying. He helps roll the heavy rock away. Beneath it Token's soft snow boot looks flat. "Should we take it off?" The brunette asks.

Gritting his teeth, Token eases himself onto the ground. Gingerly he tries to take off the purple boot and lets out a pained gasp. "I don't think it's going to come off." His voice is higher than normal.

Clyde frowns and looks around. His light brown eyes are drawn to the river again. _I wish I knew what to do. _"Do you have anything to cut it off with?"

"I'm in my goddamn sweatpants, Clyde." Token snaps. "Does it look like I have anything sharp on me?" Token rocks back and forth in obvious pain.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Clyde tries not to cry. Token will just get pissed off. His eyes find their fort. The wall only goes up to about the athlete's knee but it's better than sitting out in the open. "Come on. We might as well make use of our shelter." He kneels beside the noirette and helps him to his feet. They hobble through the narrow gap one at a time. Clyde helps Token get settled down before going back out to retrieve his blazer and the parachute pack.

"My parents told me to win or not come back."

Clyde glances over at Token in surprise but the dark teenager is staring up at the red streaked sky. The red in the sky is overtaking the yellow. To the east the sky is dark blue and getting darker by the minute. "Don't give up yet. We're both still alive."

**Butters**

Leopold Butters Stotch has a backache. He has been lending a shoulder to Pip for the entire day and the day before that. The sun is going down and the temperature cooling the sweat on his skin. Despite this his insides feel hot. Aside from getting ocean water in his mouth Butters hasn't had a drop of water or a bite of food. The night before the Battle started his parents sent him to bed without supper on account of being drafted into this Battle. _It's not like I wanted to be!_

It was just as well that he had been sent to bed upon arriving home with the news. Learning that the British blonde boy beside him was his partner was like having been told that you are going to die and there is nothing you can do to prevent it. The tears took hours to finally stop. He hasn't even found love yet.

An exposed root trips him. Both blondes go down. For a second Butters lays sprawled on the dusty ground and considers never getting up again. Laying here and dying would just be easier than trying to survive while everyone else kills each other.

Chaos explodes when out of nowhere a group of big dark pigs happens upon them. The pigs squeal and grunt angrily when they nearly trip over the fallen boys. Butters barely has a moment to register that there are two smaller spotted ones, barely the size of a cat.

A tingle goes down his spine. Turquoise eyes look down to see that one of them has imbedded its tusks in his abdomen. Seeing the wound brings the pain to life. A scream rips from the little blonde's throat.

Sharp hooves tear up his chest and legs while the animal burrows deeper with its snout. The smell wafting off them is unbelievably bad. It's difficult to breathe with the weight on his chest and foul scent.

Another scream as a second pig rams its tusks into Butters left thigh. He struggles to get them away from him; however his fists have little effect on the animals. Tears stream down his face.

Something hits him in the head; a small stone. "Run Leopold!"

The violent animals are distracted. Butters heaves and screams again at the burning agony in his abdomen. He shoves the one on his chest away. Half blind, the pale boy gets up and runs blindly. The hand pressed to his abdomen can feel slimy intestines. He doesn't dare look down.

A thousand claws catch at him but he presses on until he can't hear the beasts snuffling behind him and the claws vanish. Then he collapses onto the damp and leafy ground. Butters doesn't try to muffle his cries of pain, even though he knows it will bring the Warriors to him. _Maybe they will kill me out of pity. _

He screams until his voice goes hoarse.

At some point he must have passed out because when he awakens Pip is standing over him. The British youth doesn't look any worse for wear except he is unusually pale and sweat is dripping down his forehead. "T-they are g-gone."

With consciousness the pain returns tenfold. Butters looks up towards the sky and moans. The leaves are so close and so many that he can't even see the sky. _What a horrible way to die. _

Pip drops to his knees beside Butters. Cinnamon brown and turquoise eyes lock for a moment.

With complete and utter certainty Butters knows they are going to die here.

"I'll sew you up." Pip breaks eye contact first. He reaches into the pocket of his bright red skinny jeans and pulls out a tiny plastic box. It's thin and when he opens it needles and thread falls out onto his knees. "I climbed a tree." The British youth explains. "If getting to the lowest branch counts as climbing."

While Pip pokes blue thread through the microscopic hole at the end of the needle with trembling hands Butters looks away. His eyes happen to catch sight of his arm. Dozens of small cuts decorate his arm. You can hardly tell the circular cut on his wrist from the ones that look like cat scratches. He doesn't feel the needle enter his skin. His body is in so much pain that the tiny pokes hardly register.

"Kill me. Please kill me." Butters begs softly in a hoarse voice.

Pip shakes his head no and tears leak out from the corners of Butters eyes.

**Mark**

Mark Cotswold grits his teeth, closes his eyes, and straightens out his nose. The bone grinds against bone and then it seems to snap into place. The pain makes him gasp. _At least it's over with. _After their fight with Broflovski and Marsh the siblings stayed where they were on the beach.

Only when the direct sunlight got too hot did they retreat to the shade of the trees. Now that the sun is down and his sister has got used to her blind eye, they will be moving again.

Rebecca is getting restless. Mark can tell by the way she paces like a caged lioness.

They haven't exchanged two words since he splashed saltwater in her eye. Neither of them has felt like sharing their thoughts.

"Brother Dearest," Rebecca's voice causes Mark to jump. "I think it is time to go hunting." The last rays of the sun are fading causing Rebecca's irises to look black. Coupled with her slutty outfit and good looks, she looks a bit like one of the undead blood drinkers people seem so obsessed with.

"It's dark out Rebecca." He throws his hands up only to drop them back down.

She tilts her head. "Exactly. How many of them do you think will be on guard with the sun down?"

Mark's brown eyes find the jungle. In the moonlight it looks like a mass of shadow. Not normally one to be afraid of the dark, the brunette youth wonders why he gets a sudden chill. "We don't even know where anyone went. We haven't seen anyone all day."

It is true, not a soul has passed the siblings by. Either this place is attached to a mainland or it's a bigger island than Mark thought.

Rebecca puts her hands on her hips. "We will track them." She shrugs as though it's no big deal.

Mark sighs. He runs a hand through his hair then winces; when he landed he cut his palm on a piece of driftwood. It's a shallow cut but in an annoying spot. After debating it to himself he holds up his hands in surrender. "Fine. Lead the way." _As if she intended anything else to happen. _

Rebecca marches into the jungle seemingly at random. Her brother is amazed she can wear those black leather hooker boots with their four inch heels and walk through sand without difficulty. He follows after her, hesitating only a heartbeat as the darkness swallows her up.

Underneath the cover of the trees the visibility gets no better. Mark doesn't know why he expected it to. Back at home in South Park, it was much cooler and he never ventured into the forest at night. His brown leather dress shoe catches on a root but the brunette doesn't go down. As they walk by them, the insects go quiet. Foreign screeches and grunts come from all around. The sounds assault his ears like static or an irritating fly. They are so annoying it makes him want to claw at his ears and shake his head to clear it. _This is much different from home. _

His stomach growls loudly. "We should find something to eat." Even at a whisper his voice seems loud, at the same time with all the jungle chatter it seems quiet. Suddenly Mark's mouth feels dry too. "And some fresh water."

Rebecca hums in response.

At least he thinks she does. _Maybe it's something else._ _Maybe she didn't even hear me. _"Rebecca?" He tries again, "I said –"

She cuts him off curtly. "I heard you Mark." A sigh follows. "And I think you are right." She sounds annoyed to have to stop for essentials like food and water. "We'll find sustenance then resume hunting."

"You're the boss."

"Don't you forget it."

_As if you would ever let me. _

**Christophe**

Christophe stands at the river's edge in the shadows of the trees. Underfoot the ground is soggy. Moonlight dances on the water. It's a full moon tonight. The clear image of a shark swims in then out of his view. "Zere are sharks in zere."

Gregory faces the Frenchman, blonde eyebrow raised. "I suppose we shouldn't go for a swim then." Dismissing the subject, Gregory turns to face the jungle again. His hands are on his hips. "How many do you think are dead?"

The brunette also turns away from the dangerous water. "Ze South Park kids are resilient. Like cockroaches." He fingers the knife hanging from his belt loop. Earlier in the day he had made a sheath of wood kept together with tightly woven vines.

"Yes. They are." Gregory replies with a smile. "Particularly Kyle."

Christophe wants to punch the British blonde's pretty face. He doesn't. Instead he twirls the stick he found. It's thick and long. The brunette plans on stripping it of its bark and sharpening one end into a point. "Where are we setting up camp?"

Gregory waves one hand in the air vaguely. "Wherever. I'm sure you heard the screams."

"Ze ground doesn't seem very safe." Christophe agrees bitterly. He jabs one end of the walking stick into the ground. A chunk of earth breaks off and is carried downriver. "Zere 'aven't been any signs of predators."

"Ah, yes. To the trees then." Gregory marches off into the darkness.

Christophe hesitates long enough to give the river a longing look then trudges after his partner. His mouth feels like a desert. Getting a drink is not worth the risk of being bitten by a shark.

As he marches somewhere ahead of Christophe in the darkness Gregory continues to ramble on, "It's rather chilly out tonight. Do you think we should build a fire?"

Christophe missed most of whatever the British faggot said except that last sentence. "Een a zree?" Pine needle green eyes roll up towards the treetops. For having such a high grade point average, Gregory is an idiot.

"Ah." Gregory's voice suddenly comes from overhead. "That would be ill advised."

_Because he just can't admit that he's stupid. _

"Unless of course we wanted to smoke them out."

"Who's zalking about smoking zem out?" Christophe finds the tree his boyfriend is perched in. "Eef we were going zo do zat, we would stand a better chance lighting zem on fire." He adjusts his parachute pack before hauling himself into it. Before hauling himself up to the next one he tests his weight carefully; falling and breaking something is the last thing the brunette needs.

The tree has a wide trunk fairly free of moss and dampness. In spite of this its bark is smooth underhand, making it difficult to get a good grip. Its branches start off wide but quickly narrow to a thin point.

After narrowly avoiding a fall when his gloved fingers slipped, Christophe moans, "I want my shovel."

"How is a shovel going to help you climb a tree, Mole?" Gregory sounds annoying smug. "You can barely manage it with that stick of yours."

_Thanks for the vote of confidence. _"Do nut fucking call me zat." He growls. "I would much rather sleep on ze ground een a 'ole zan een a fucking zree."

His hand touches clothing; Gregory. "I would love to cuddle with you, Mole, but I don't think the branch can support our combined weight."

"Fuck off." Christophe replies. Regardless of the warning, he hauls himself onto the branch. Even with his extra hundred-something pounds the branch creaks dangerously. He reaches up for another and pulls his legs up onto it. Leaning back against the solid trunk of the tree, the brunette looks around. Visibility still sucks but it isn't nearly as bad as it is on the ground. At least he can make out a few features like vines and lichen hanging from the intertwining limbs.

Christophe unsheathes his knife. Slowly he presses the blade against one fourth of the branch and drags it towards the nearest point. A thin curl of wood appears then drops off. The action is repeated over and over. Christophe is determined to have more than just a little dagger to protect him.

After a few minutes of silence between the two boys, Gregory's voice asks, "Christophe, what on earth is going on up there?"

"What do you mean?" He peels off another thin curl.

"Stuff keeps falling on me."

"I am making a spear."

Gregory huffs. "Well make me one too."

Irritated, the brunette frowns. "Ask nicely."

A sigh floats upwards. Christophe can just hear the raging battle his boyfriend is having in his mind. "Please make me a spear, Christophe."

"I'll zink about eet."

**Bridon**

Bridon Guermo can't stop his hands from shaking. When they started shaking he doesn't know for sure. It could have been the first day when the man in the suit came to his house and told him he was replacing Gary Harrison. It could have been this morning when he had to scream at himself mentally to get up off the ground where he slept.

The days have lasted years yet looking back Bridon can't recall what happened. He recalls the heat; how it sucked every drop of moisture from his body. He recalls the salty taste of the ocean where he landed hard. If he wasn't such a good swimmer the young brunette would have been swept away.

Bridon doesn't know if Red knows that Gary is dead. She could wander clueless, searching for someone who will never come here. _I wish, _he stops himself. _Don't think like that. _

With effort the youth raises his sees something that looks like it could be Red. Bridon stumbles towards it. His head is spinning and aching like someone is pushing a blade through it. When he reaches her, Bridon's legs give out.

"I'm so glad to see you." His voice sounds funny in his head. _When was the last time I spoke? _Blood dribbles into his mouth from the cracks on lips. "G-Gary is dead. I'm your new partner."

Red remains silent and standing. Her face is turned to one side, eyes directed somewhere else.

Bridon talks to her until his voice breaks. His mouth is like cotton. Red's stoic attitude is baffling but Bridon is finding it difficult to concentrate. He can no longer hold himself upright and slumps to the leafy ground. Just as he's about to close his eyes a new Red comes into view. _Great, now I'm seeing things. _

"Bridon?" She sounds shocked to see him here.

Slowly he blinks. It's about all he can do at the moment.

"Dude, you don't look so good. Have you had anything to drink?" She kneels beside him. A hand is pressed to his forehead. It hurts. "Come on, there's a river right over here."

Bridon feels his partner picking him up. If he were in better shape this would be embarrassing. If he were in better shape this would be unnecessary. A few minutes of walking later and the sound of rushing water reaches his ears. It sounds like heaven.

Red sets him down, keeping one hand on his shoulder to steady him.

The brunette throws caution to the wind as he leans over to drink. The trees go all the way to the river's edge and the ground is very marshy. Despite this he leans forward and dunks his face in the water. It's cold, refreshing; like taking a breath of fresh air after being in a pigsty.

Feeling much better, Bridon sits up again. His stomach doesn't growl, but the pains in it tell him he's hungry. "Thanks." His voice still sounds strange but its closer to normal than before.

Red nods. "Unless someone else died, I'm guessing you're my partner."

To himself Bridon wonders who he was talking to. He had been so sure it was the redheaded girl. "They told me I was supposed to replace Gary."

Red is nodding again. She cups her hands and fills them with river water. After repeating the action a few more times she fixes her leaf green eyes on his dark blue ones. "Do you have a plan?"

He shakes his head.

"And you don't have your parachute." It's a statement not a question.

"You don't have yours either." He's quick to point out. Quickly he adds, "I landed in the water. It would have dragged me down."

Red shrugs. "I didn't think to bring mine. It didn't really look like the parachute would fit back in it anyway." She looks up at the sky through the trees.

Bridon follows her gaze. Lightning flashes across the sky, illuminating pregnant storm clouds. A bit of fear twists down his spine. In South Park, rain always meant that the temperature dropped fifteen degrees. It's bad enough being hot and soaked through with sweat and humidity; being cold is going to be worse. "What are we going to do?"

Red stands up, offers him a hand.

Bridon waves her hand away. He gathers what little strength the water gave him and gets to his feet. His head spins then settles.

"We take cover. I doubt much of the water will get through the canopy."


End file.
